


Enter the Sandman

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Halloween 13, Also Slumbering Beauty, Fantasy, First Dates, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Slightly influenced by Neil Gaiman's Sandman
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: Mycroft is the Sandman, bringing sleep to those in need. When insomniac Greg sees him in his bedroom, he ends up asking him for a date.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 47
Kudos: 79
Collections: A Halloween 13 2020





	1. Chapter 1

It had been yet another late night crime scene, yet another tangible example of the terrible things people can do to each other. Once again, Greg's sleep schedule had been destroyed, so now he had hours in which to rest, time for sleep he desperately needed, but his brain wouldn't shut off, exhausted as he was. 

Shirtless, in his pants, he had dropped today's clothes on the floor and slowly collapsed into his bed. He lay sandwiched in the plain white sheets, forcing his eyes shut. He needed something relaxing to think about, a restful, unthreatening image to focus on. Nothing came to mind, nothing to calm his whirling thoughts, everyday to-dos -- laundry was overdue -- mixing with possible solutions to his cases and horrible images of death. 

He sighed. Then he stilled. His subconscious made him aware of the whisper of a movement, someone in his bedroom, but barely a presence. He kept his breathing soft and regular until he judged the right moment, when his eyes flew open and he grabbed a slim, pale wrist, cool to his touch. A finely dressed man in a dark three-piece suit was bending over the bed. 

"Who're you, then? And what are you doing in my bedroom?" Greg growled, his voice rough. He was, oddly, not afraid of the intrusion, just curious. 

"Damn," in a posh, modulated tone, was the answer. "Why weren't you asleep? You shouldn't have been able to fool me." 

"Haven't slept right in years. Good at faking it, me. Now answer my questions," Greg demanded, shaking the arm in his grip slightly. 

"Only if you release me. I will not be man-handled." 

Greg reluctantly let go of the man, who straightened up and unnecessarily tidied his waistcoat, brushing down the fabric. "Thank you. Now forget me." An elegant gesture of his long fingers left a twinkling spray of some kind of fine dust in its wake. Greg, reflexes finely honed after so long on the force, quickly pulled up his sheet and ducked beneath so that none of it landed on him. At the same time, he snaked out a leg and hooked the man behind his knees, tipping him onto the foot of the bed, sprawling.

"What?!?" the man sputtered and rolled over onto his side so he wasn't lying on his face. He cast an appraising eye over Greg. "You're just full of surprises."

"And you are going to tell me who you are and why you're here before I arrest you." Greg didn't want to look like he was hiding, so he lowered the sheet, revealing his bare chest. 

"I don't think so. You could try... might be amusing... but you would find yourself disappointed." The man smirked while his eyes roamed over Greg, appreciatively. 

Greg scrubbed his hand over his face and flopped back on his pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "Mate, it's too late for this. You picked the wrong person to threaten or rob or whatever you're up to tonight." Somehow, having a conversation with a strange, overdressed man in his bed didn't seem as unusual as it should have. He should be on alert, full of adrenaline, but all he was was tired, bone-deep. 

The man gracefully crawled up the mattress and turned on his side, next to Greg, the better to observe his bedmate. Greg rolled to face him as the man propped himself up on his elbow and reached into his jacket with his free arm. He withdrew a small, leather-bound notebook, the cover darkened with age and frequent handling. He made a production of flipping through it, as though he was looking up Greg's details. "No, I am where I should be. You are Gregory Lestrade, and you are long overdue for a restful night." 

"Always. But what do you have to do with it?" 

"I am the Sandman," was pronounced grandly. 

Greg closed his eyes, mentally revising his strategy from arrest to an ambulance for the nutter in his bedroom. "Sure you are. But you're not needed, 'cause clearly I'm already dreaming." 

"Not yet, but I can help with that. Just relax... let yourself drift off..." The voice purred at him, impossibly deeper, soothing. The man tucked the notebook away and shifted closer, bringing their heads together, almost whispering in his ear. 

Given how the night was going, Greg was unsurprised to note that he wasn't alarmed by this, in spite of his instincts. The presence was reassuring, but eyes still closed, he shook his head. "Won't work. Too many waking nightmares I've seen. Won't let me sleep." 

"Trust me, Gregory. Relax. You're quite safe here." A cool hand lightly brushed his brow, smoothing the lines of concern away and leaving in its wake a feeling of peace. The air of calm authority the man projected was working. 

"But the door," Greg mumbled as he found himself sliding deep into unconsciousness. He barely noted the way his arm snuck under the other man's shoulders, drawing him close and snuggling them together. His cheek felt nice against the fine fabric against it, and the shoulder under that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating is set because of future chapters. 
> 
> Mycroft's words to Greg at the end are a nod to "[Paranoimia](https://johannadc.tumblr.com/post/632589842826526720/todays-mental-radio-paranoimia-by-the-art-of)", which is why Greg mutters about a door.


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke a few hours later, the habit of early rising hard to break, Greg was more refreshed than he had ever again expected to feel. His head was on a firm chest, and his arm was lying over another man's waist. He could feel tension under his cheek. 

"Finally!" crisply bitten out. 

Greg sleepily raised his head. "What are you still doing here?" 

"That is an _excellent_ question. And it is your fault." The well-dressed man, rumpled after the time in bed, shoved Greg away and sat up. "I have not been captured in centuries. My schedule is completely ruined!" 

"Captured? 'm I still asleep?" 

"Pay attention, Lestrade. I need you alert so I can _leave_ ," the man spat out, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed to the floor. 

Greg narrowed his eyes, still waking up and confused. "Make up your mind, willya? You told me to sleep, so I did." 

"Not with **me**. You are not my only charge. Just the most in need." That last, the man seemed to whisper to himself, turning away. "Now that you are awake, I can go." 

"Hold on a mo'." Greg once again grasped the man's wrist. "Not without explanation. To start, why am I not more concerned that a strange but well-dressed man is in my bed?" 

"Your latent bisexuality..." the other man began, before Greg cut him off.

"Not that part." Greg shook his head. "You are a stranger. And a particularly strange one. I am a copper. I should have you up against the wall, not having a chat." 

"Again, your attraction to authority..." 

"You can't fluster me with flirting." Greg cut in and spoke with determination, as he did in an interrogation. "You're dodging the question. And since it seems you can't leave as long as I touch you..." Greg curled himself up around the man's back, strong legs on one side of his hips, chest on the other. "Mmm, comfy. I could take a nap while you decide whether to answer me." 

Somehow, Greg knew the man was rolling his eyes, even without seeing his face. It just seemed to suit him. "Fine," the man forced out through gritted teeth. "Could we at least get out of bed?"

"Dunno," Greg lay back and stretched, keeping his thigh in contact with the side of the man's firm arse. "I like it here. More well-rested than I've been in years. Apparently that's your fault." 

The man's eyes were running over him, as he looked back over his shoulder. Greg grinned. He wasn't the only one who liked the scenery. 

"So, Sandman, you have a real name?" 

"Mycroft," the man said quietly, after a pause. "My name is Mycroft." 

"Not Morpheus?" Greg teased. 

Now he had the man -- Mycroft's -- full attention, as he shifted to face Greg, the better to stare at him. Greg suspected that glare got most people to shut it. He wasn't most people. 

Mycroft was talking. "I do not care for that _comic book_ , thank you. I didn't expect you to know it, though. You don't seem the type." 

"Had to work security on a few signings back when it was all the thing." Greg shrugged, and the muscles of his chest rippled. "Seemed interesting. 'S creative, about why people do what they do. Bit bloody for me, sometimes. Get enough of that at work." Greg made a show of looking Mycroft up and down. "The pictures didn't do you justice. Didn't resemble you at all, did they?" 

"How well could I do my job if people knew what I looked like? Don't be stupid, Lestrade." 

"Think I'm doing quite well talking to someone who thinks they're mythical, ta all the same." He grinned again, enjoying this tête-à-tête. 

"Asking for proof is so tiresome. Let me go, and I'll disappear, which should be enough to convince you." Mycroft pushed, half-heartedly, at Greg's leg, still touching him. 

Greg refused to move. He was operating on faith at this point, but he wanted to know more about this unusual man. "Don't want to keep you late to work, but how do I see you again?" 

"You don't. You never should have in the first place." 

Greg had heard the legends, about bargains with the magical, but he couldn't resist. "Can't we make a deal? I'll let you go, but you come back for dinner?"

"I don't eat. And you can't cage me." 

"It's company, mate, not kidnapping. I want to know more about you. Copper curiosity. Don't you get any time off? Few minutes for a chat over coffee?"

A strange light flashed across Mycroft's eyes, as though he was unused to being treated as a person. He eyed the grey-haired man speculatively. "You are quite deceptive. You aren't a regular person at all, are you?" 

"Just me," Greg shrugged. "Detective. Interested in mysteries. Solving the case." 

"And healing those involved as much as you can." Mycroft tapped the sides of two fingers against his lips. "Very well. I will promise to return on the evening of the second day following if you allow me to give you the rest you need." 

"No drugs involved, are there?" Greg was still cautious. 

Mycroft drew a small velvet bag from his waistcoat pocket, followed by a similarly sized empty bag from his jacket. The second one resembled an evidence bag, an unusual choice. "I have come to appreciate your concerns," Mycroft said, "so I will prepare two gifts for you. Appreciate my generosity." He gave Greg a telling look, pinning him with his gaze. 

Greg watched as Mycroft poured half the contents of the velvet bag into the clear plastic one. It resembled a small amount of sparkly sand. He sealed the second bag and placed them both on the bedside table. 

"The contents are the same. Tonight and tomorrow night, dip a finger into the velvet bag, and gently line your eyes with the dust. You will have restful sleep and pleasing dreams before I see you again. The second bag is for you to have analyzed, if you so wish, prior to its use." Mycroft gave Greg an appraising look. "You do not trust easily, nor should you. This substance, in the wrong hands, is highly addictive. Most people will not recognize it, so take care whom you ask about it." 

On the bed, Greg moved away from Mycroft, indicating his freedom. "Thank you for your trust." He smiled. "You sure you don't want dinner?" 

Long seconds passed. 

"I will appreciate the pleasure of your company. Please have whatever you wish." 

Greg suddenly yawned, and while he blinked, Mycroft disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

Greg didn't bother with the second bag of sand. Anyone who went to such a performance wouldn't have given him anything that could be caught out. He left it in place, and when he used the other bag's contents that night, he dropped off almost immediately and slept deeper and more peacefully than he had in ages. He awoke gradually, as though swimming up from the depths, and remembered little of his dreams, other than a vague feeling that a nice fish dish was always appreciated by a guest at a meal. Even if the sparkles were a placebo, they worked for him, although he couldn't find any evidence of them on his skin in the morning. 

The second night he slept, he was careful to arrange his thoughts before closing his eyes. He had no idea what you could get a master of dreams, so Greg thought he'd compliment him. By thinking of him just before sleep, of how fascinating and attractive he was, of how much Greg wanted to get to know him, to talk more with him, Greg hoped that his dreams would carry the message. 

Apparently, it worked. As Greg walked into his apartment after work that day, Mycroft, once again dressed as though he was about to take an international business meeting, strolled out of Greg's bedroom holding the little plastic bag of sand. "Greetings, Gregory," he said, inclining his head in a regal nod. "I see you did not take advantage of this part of my gift." 

"No need, Mycroft. And welcome in. Didn't want to risk your magic powder getting loose, although I appreciate the thought." Greg took off his overcoat, hanging it by the door, and sat down on the sofa to remove his shoes. "Make yourself comfortable, if you want." 

"Hmmmmm." Mycroft hummed slightly as he looked at Greg again. "Very well. No harm done, although I will reclaim this." 

"Go ahead. Gotta learn to start sleeping that well on my own, don't I? Thanks, by the way, for that. Feel like a new man." Greg stood up, brushing by Mycroft on his way into the bedroom to stow his shoes and hang up his suit jacket. 

Mycroft's lips quirked upward, just for a moment, before smoothing again into a neutral expression. "Do you now." It wasn't a question. 

As he came back into the sitting room, where Mycroft was now standing, examining the entire room, Greg asked, "How long do I have you? You work nights, I assume." He gestured towards the sofa. 

Mycroft took the invitation, and folded himself gracefully onto the cushioned seat, crossing his long legs at the knee. "It's always nighttime somewhere, yes, although my ... colleagues and I generally are geographically dispersed. Effective dream work requires cultural familiarity, after all. Though I fear you have the wrong impression of my sphere of authority. I hold only a minor role in the spirit world, and I delegate effectively. I can spare an evening for a unique opportunity." The last was said while looking directly at Greg, in case he missed that he was the opportunity. 

"Why'd you show up here, then? Why me?" Greg joined him on the sofa, ready to learn more. 

"As I said, you needed me." Graceful fingers plucked at the trouser crease crossing his knee. "Your sleep was ineffective, and you risked doing yourself damage without finally getting true rest." 

"I'm far from the only one, Mycroft, who has insomnia." 

"You are the only one with your unique role. You are valuable, Gregory, as a bulwark against despair. People need to know that wrongs will be righted." 

Greg snorted. "Right. Make me sound like a superhero." He changed the subject, more interested in his guest. "What do you need, then?" 

"Need? Me?" The question stumped the Sandman. "I serve a purpose. I fulfill my duties." 

"Yeah, but you, as a person... don't you ever want anything or do something fun? Besides having not-dinner with me?" Greg had crossed his ankle over the opposite knee, and he tapped with his toes on his companion's leg, kicking at him gently to show he was teasing. 

Mycroft froze at the touch before shaking his head slightly and refocusing. "Usually, no. I suppose that also proves how special you are." He smiled at Greg, the first real smile he'd seen from the being. 

"Alright, you." Greg stood up. "You can eat or not, but I'm going to cook dinner, and you're going to help." As he rolled up his shirtsleeves, he gestured with his elbow to Mycroft. "Take off that jacket and waistcoat, you can put them on the chair over there."


	4. Chapter 4

In the kitchen, Greg set a small variety of vegetables on a cutting board in front of Mycroft and handed him a knife. "Can you make a salad?" 

"I'm not sure?" Mycroft sounded confused. "I've seen amazing smorgasbords in people's dreams, but I only know what any particular dish should look like." 

"Well, then, that's a start. Only taste is more important. Tear some lettuce into the bowl, slice the tomatoes and cucumbers, and chop the carrot. I'll handle the dressing after I've got the fish going. " 

The filets went into foil packets on a bed of sliced potatoes and leeks. Greg dotted butter and lemon slices on top, shook on a variety of seasoning, sprinkled a bit of white wine, folded the packets closed, and put them into the oven. When he turned around, Mycroft had a magazine-worthy salad bowl assembled. Greg gave a low whistle. "That's amazing. 'm afraid to touch it." 

Mycroft quirked a smile at him, briefly, and shook the bowl, dislodging the contents into something more homemade-looking. "There." 

Greg laughed. "Brilliant, you are." He measured oil, vinegar, a little mustard, a little garlic, and salt and pepper into a jar and shook them together. "Ok, dressing's done." He looked at Mycroft out of the side of his eye. "Should I get you a plate?"

"Well, why not. When in Rome and all that." Mycroft shrugged. Without his suit jacket, he looked like any other man. Well, any man who was tall and slender, well put together, with an elegance of movement underlying all his actions. Greg's hands suddenly itched to touch him, to be sure he was real. He grabbed up a kitchen towel, burying his fingers in it as he wiped his hands. 

"Twenty minutes or so on the fish. Can I get you a glass of wine?" The bottle stood open from its earlier use in the main course. "Do you drink?" 

"A night of firsts for me, it seems. Please." Mycroft took up a glass from the counter and held it out as Greg poured for him and then for himself. 

The two men sat at the table. Greg gingerly approached conversation as he toyed with the stem of his glass. "I have questions, but I won't be rude. You don't have to answer." 

"Ask away." Mycroft waved his hand, indicating his generosity. Wine seemed to have a similar effect on him as it did on any date, providing a little relaxation, a little openness.

"You said I captured you. What was that about?" 

Greg was stunned to see a slight pink develop on Mycroft's pale cheeks as he contemplated the question. "It takes quite a lot of power to bind an immortal. Most can never accomplish it, even after years of study and preparation. You, on the other hand... you _cuddled_ me." Mycroft glared at him before breaking into a wry grin and a shrug. "Who knew? Your desire and your acceptance together were quite a potent mixture." 

"Yeah, about that. You're fit and all, but..." 

"Don't try to lie to someone who can see your dreams, Gregory." Mycroft tilted his head and looked at him from under his eyebrows. "I know what you like." 

"Fair enough." Greg took a big swallow of the wine to bolster himself. This might be the stupidest thing he'd ever done, or the bravest. "You interested, then?" 

Mycroft, in the middle of sipping his drink, sputtered. "Gracious, you _are_ direct." 

"Life's too short to play games. And if I'm too old for dancing around, then I know you are. Assuming you really are who you say." 

"I'll prove it to you later, Gregory. Trust me." As Mycroft answered, Greg heard the echoes of the sleep spell from their first meeting. 

"Don't enchant me yet, I've got to finish cooking dinner." He rose from his chair, placing his glass down and heading to the kitchen to assemble their meal.


	5. Chapter 5

The food was delicious, all the more so for good company and conversation. Mycroft had all sorts of unusual perspectives and observations, unfettered by mortal convention, while Greg had the uncanny ability of making Mycroft laugh with various wisecracks and a refusal to take anything too seriously. 

Soon enough, the meal was done, the plates cleared, and the awkward moment approaching where the men had to decide whether to continue spending the evening together or go their separate ways. 

They were sitting together on the sofa when Greg took up his courage and decided to find out. "So, Sandy, you never answered my question." 

"No nicknames, _please_. I am neither a television presenter nor a teenage beach bunny." Mycroft politely coughed and continued. "Which question was that?" 

"The one where you could tell I was attracted to you but I don't know whether it's reciprocated." 

"You foolhardy man," Mycroft replied with a smile in his voice. "You are wonderful to look at but have no idea what you are proposing. Are you really propositioning me? You have no idea what might result. What power might be released. Whether this is my true form. Whether humans and immortals are compatible." 

"You stayed in my bed without destroying anything, so clearly you have some control." Greg could answer this challenge. "And I can see your mouth from here, which means we're compatible enough. If you're worried whether I can bring you pleasure, well, tell me what you want. Or don't want. I'm easy." 

Mycroft simply stared at Greg as minutes ticked by. Finally, he spoke, "You really don't mind, do you? You are amazing." He moved closer. Long fingers reached out, lightly running up and down the inside of Greg's wrist. "What if I want to pleasure you?" 

"'M up for that. Literally, if you keep doing that. But you should know... I want to keep seeing you. If you can't or won't continue, I'll say goodbye now. I have no way of finding you if you don't want me to, and I don't want to wake up tomorrow with you gone for good." 

"Your honesty, Gregory... it's one of your more attractive qualities. The word of a being like me is not easily or lightly given, and predicting the future is not within my authority. I fear I will hurt you, eventually. But for tonight, I can promise you only that I will take you to bed, I will exhaust you in the best ways, and I will give you a way to contact me. " 

"That's enough to be going on with for now." Greg rose, taking Mycroft's hands and pulling him up. When they were both standing, Greg placed his hands on either side of Mycroft's face, pulling him in for a gentle first kiss. It deepened, slowly, as they explored each other's mouths, making silent promises about what could lie in their future.


	6. Chapter 6

Greg discovered that an immortal who looked like a man reacted much like one as well. He broke their kiss to lead Mycroft into his bedroom, where they watched each other, warily and hungrily, as they each undressed. 

Naked, Mycroft had no shame and no inhibitions, having seen everything humans could imagine about each other. He held back until Greg had stripped, then pounced, driving them back onto the bed, hands roaming and mouth seeking. They brought each other to the brink of excitement, rutting and rolling together, then backed off, reflecting, seeing each other, before once again committing to the act. 

Mycroft found Greg's responses fascinating, participating for once in giving pleasure and causing reactions instead of simply suggesting and watching them. They touched and observed and explored each other, greedily, thoughtfully, patiently. Mycroft brought Greg off with his mouth, sucking and licking and swallowing. Greg offered to return the favor, but Mycroft wanted his hand so they could continue kissing. 

Seeing an immortal come was a sight for the ages, as Mycroft froze in the moment, eyes closing and skin sparkling before exhaling deeply and collapsing next to Greg. Greg wanted to be a gentleman and fetch a towel, but he was afraid, in the moment, to let Mycroft out of his sight. So he cuddled him close, pillowing his head on his chest, and gently rubbed his back. When he heard adorably faint snores coming from his bedmate, Greg finally felt comfortable sneaking out of bed long enough to clean himself up and pull on sleep flannels before returning to Mycroft's side. He was careful to again arrange himself closely, with several points of contact, before dropping into his own dreamless sleep. 

Greg was apparently attuned to Mycroft now, as he began waking when Mycroft started stirring. Just as well, since he didn't want Mycroft to vanish again without a few understandings between them. Greg watched Mycroft wake up, which seemed to surprise him, as his eyes suddenly flew open and he shivered, a full-body shake, before sitting up abruptly. He turned and glared at Greg, crossing his arms across his chest. "I do not know how you keep surprising me, but I am trying not to find it annoying. The Sandman is not supposed to sleep!" 

Greg, looked up at him from the pillows, put his hands behind his head, and smiled, dredging up whatever charm he could inject into that grin. "Dunno what to tell you. We had fun, you dropped off." He shrugged. "A chap could take offense at that."

"You... human!" Mycroft harrumphed through his nose. "Why am I not more annoyed with you?" Powerful being or not, he was adorable when he pouted. 

"Don't be like that." Greg tugged Mycroft back down, next to him. "Don't you ever need rest? To clear your head? Occasional roll in the hay?" 

"You are infuriating." Mycroft's proclamation might have had more weight if he wasn't nuzzling into Greg's chest, eyes closed, half on top of him, when he said it. "How are you so chipper?" 

"Your sand gave me a great night's sleep. Well, I say sand... Ouch!" Mycroft had interrupted Greg with a nip at his nipple. Greg swatted at his head. "No teeth! 'm sensitive." 

Mycroft opened one eye and lazily looked up at Greg. "You say that now..." He began nosing at Greg's pectorals, sinuously rolling his hips as he slowly slid on top of Greg and worked his way back up to within reach for a kiss. 

Greg enthusiastically participated, enjoying the feel of a solid body covering him, until he had to stop to breathe. He couldn't resist continuing to tweak Mycroft. "Mercurial this morning, aren't we?" 

"Mmmm, different pantheon," Mycroft responded absently, as he nibbled at Greg's neck. 

Which reminded Greg, pleasant as this was to wake up to, they really needed a conversation. "Ok, Dream King, hold up a mo'. You promised me three things last night, and you have admirably given me two of them." 

"Not so admirably if you're still able to count." Mycroft wasn't giving up on tasting Greg's skin, working his way around and up to that spot behind his ear while his hands lightly roamed down Greg's sides to his hips. 

Greg reached down and pinched Mycroft's arse, which got him a squeak and a jump and enough of an interruption to pull back and look into his eyes. "'s important to me, alright? I would like to see you again, you daft berk, and I want to know how before you work my brain out of my head."

"Fine," Mycroft huffed, rolling off, onto his back, and staring at the ceiling. "I can tell this relationship is going to be tedious at times. When I return to my realm, I will send you a messenger and a method." 

"Oi, you, we don't have a relationship yet. You have to take me out and tell me more about you first." 

"Please, Gregory, dating? I don't have time for silly human rituals." 

"Then I guess you don't need morning-after wake-up sex followed by lazy breakfast in bed." 

"Perhaps I have spoken too hastily." Mycroft propped himself on his elbow and smirked at Greg before reaching out a long arm and pulling him closer.


End file.
